Karl Pilkington gatecrashes an Indian wedding

In search of true romance, Karl Pilkington wangles himself an invite to an Indian wedding in Bangalore

I was given a traditional-looking suit to wear to the ceremony. It was pretty fancy, the sort of suit Elvis wore on stage in Vegas, yet all I'll be doing is making sure some bloke's hat is on straight. It was covered in beads and little plastic pearls. Washing machines across India must get jammed all the time with people washing these things. We went to the apartment where the family were getting ready. I knew it was going to be a long day…

9.30am I met Vik the groom. He was having his turban fitted. Vithika and Divya (the wedding planners) explained again that it was my responsibility to make sure the turban wasn't covering his eyes. I told them Vik would know himself if it was covering his eyes as he wouldn't be able to see.

9.50am I was asked to move guests to the roof terrace for the puja. Candles were lit and rice was sprinkled over Vik for good luck. Guests dipped their wedding finger into some red powder and then touched Vik's forehead to leave a mark. This is considered important as it represents the third eye. They believe the usual two eyes see the outside world and the third sees inside, helping you trust your intuition. I suppose this is similar to us having a 'gut' feeling. I go with my gut rather than my head to make decisions. Maybe they use the third eye in India as they can't trust their guts due to all the spicy food. Mine had been playing up since I had arrived: I had a red eye but it wasn't on my head.

11.15am Arrived at the temple. I had to stand by Vik's car, ready to open the door when it was time for him to get out. I noticed Vithika was watching so I checked Vik's turban and gave her the thumbs up. I heard trumpets being blown. Deepa the bride had arrived. Divya told me to welcome people in. If the whole point of these massive weddings is to impress, I reckon that with having me, a white bald man in a magnolia beaded suit, at every corner, the guests were just going to think it had been done on a shoestring. The trumpets were making a horrible noise. It was similar to the sound of a wasp trapped behind a curtain when its wings go mental.

11.45am Around 500 people crammed into the temple. I was hoping people wouldn't start doing speeches. Maybe that's why the celebration goes on for four days. Divya gave me a plate of rice to hand out to the guests. This is thrown over the couple once they're married. It's better than confetti in a way as it's easier to vac up, and it's reusable.

12.05pm Got dragged into the canteen area to help prepare food. I was put in charge of salt. Where else would someone be given the job of handing out salt? I know I haven't got many skills but I didn't feel like I was being used to my full potential.

6.30pm Divya and Vithika showed me round the party venue. It was about the size of Old Trafford. There was a drinking area with around 50 tables and 400 seats in front of a stage where Vik and Deepa would receive blessings, and an area with stalls serving every type of food you could wish for. My jobs included making sure candles were always lit. And that everyone had peanuts.

8pm Vik and Deepa stood on stage as guests queued to shake their hands. No wonder the divorce rate in India is lower than elsewhere. I can't imagine many people would want to go through all this fannying about a second time. Just because you have a big celebration it doesn't mean the relationship is any stronger, does it? Look at swans. They don't have a big party but they stick with their partners for life. Saying that, I've always wondered if that's because they all look the same so there's no point in them running off with another swan.

11pm The food area opened but people were still requesting nuts. A man in fancy headgear welcomed people - imagine a drag queen Ronald McDonald with a Freddie Mercury moustache. I didn't see the point.

1am I finally got to use some of my skills and DJ for 20 minutes. I used to do this with my mate Makin. We called ourselves Pilkies Makin Music. We had blue shiny business cards, but we never gave them out as they were too expensive; we'd hand them over to people and get them to write down the phone number so we could have the card back. I didn't have any Indian tracks on my iPod but dug out a few songs I thought any culture could dance to:

Happy Mondays - 'Step On'

Desmond Dekker - 'Israelites'

Incredible Bongo Band - 'Apache'

Prince - 'Alphabet Street'

Madness - 'Our House'

1.30am Had a bit of a dance. My girlfriend Suzanne always says I'm not good at dancing as I don't know what moves are gonna come. I suppose I dance in the same way that plankton swims. It just goes where it's taken. That's how I do most things in life. Unlike this whole celebration.

This is an edited extract from 'The Moaning of Life: The Worldly Wisdom of Karl Pilkington' (£20, Canongate). His new TV series 'The Moaning of Life' will be shown on Sky 1 HD in October